Challenge of the clans (31 page)

"I'm sorry, my king," he said quickly, "but I must

leave you." His small mouth lifted in a wily grin. "I may have some news sooner than Td supposed."

He departed swiftly from the fortress, striding down toward the grove with as much speed as his dignity would allow. He was filled with anticipation. It had been three score days since he had lost contact with the raven he had sent to keep watch upon Finn. Another bird dispatched to spy upon the Baiscne warriors in the Connacht woods had finally found the roving band again, only to report the young man missing. Since then Finn's whereabouts had been of primary concern to the druid. He had taken the only course left to him, charging the raven to stay with the clan in hopes that Finn would join them once again.

However, as the fall days had passed without any news, he had begun to fear that he might never hear. The use of the ravens might have been withdrawn fi*om him along with the rest of the de Danaan's help.

Now he dove into the tangled shadows of the oaks, pushing through them impatiently until he reached the clearing. There the black bird waited, sitting quietly atop the skull upon the central post. Tadg wasted no time in approaching it and trying to establish communication with it. He felt relief when he saw the familiar glow arising within the ghnting eyes and the images beginning to form.

Soon he was watching fi-om high above as the warriors of the Baiscne clan gathered their belongings and boldly left the sanctuary of the Connacht woods for the first time in over sixteen years. With growing fascination he followed their journey across a changing landscape, always toward the north and east. Finally the travelers reached a place that he identified with some amazement as the Brugh na Boinne. He saw them come at last to a small hut along its banks. He gazed intently, hopefiilly, as two figures emerged fi*om the hut to greet them. The image swelled as the bird swept down with breathtaking speed to pass, once, close above. For that instant the faces of the men were very clear.

Elation surged in Tadg. He had found the son of Cumhal once again!

Following this was a quick series of views showing the entire party leaving the hut, crossing the Boinne, and starting south. But this ended abruptly, and he found himself seeing only the shiny blackness of the raven's eyes.

"What is the rest?" he demanded stridently. "Show me where they've gone!"

The bird's response was a harsh single caw. Then, with a laborious flapping of its great wings, it lifted from the skull, climbing up from the clearing, through the almost bare branches of the oaks, and away. Tadg was left alone.

He understood. This would be his last message from the children of the Morrigan. The cursed de Danaans were doing as they had promised. He would have the help of the ravens no longer.

It didn't matter now, he told himself. He had what he needed to know. But that news was more alarming than he had expected. Finn was very close, as he had sensed before. He had apparently gathered the remnants of the Baiscne clan—an impressive number, Tadg thought, for a band that had supposedly been destroyed— and had started south. He could be heading nowhere but toward Tara itself!

But why? He had learned that the young man was no fool. He had to know that he would be facing swift execution as an outlaw before he would have any chance to prove his true identity and make his claim for the chieftainship.

And then the realization came to him: Samhain!

Of course. Finn could come freely, openly, arrogantly through the gates of the fortress, protected by the laws of peace. He could declare himself to one and all without fear of interference. And once he was known to be Cumhal's son, there would be no way the high king or he could act openly against the young upstart again. Nothing would prevent him from then challenging Goll MacMoma for the leadership.

This challenge must never come, he told himself fiercely. For, though Tadg hated the idea of it, he knew what more-than-mortal abilities and spirit Finn had Ukely

been endowed with by his de Danaan blood. More than that, his growing knowledge of the lad and his own powerful, mystical sense were telling him quite strongly that, should a clash come, the Morna clan would no longer be able to stop Finn MacCumhal alone.

Something must be done to head off this threat, and soon. Finn must not be allowed to reach Tara.

He would see it done himself this time. It might be that the Tuatha de Danaan had abandoned him, but they could not rob him totally of help. He still had friends among his people. Some must still be loyal. Some must still be willing to aid him in such a just cause.

One old ally seemed his best chance for stopping Finn now. Conaran, son of Imidd, was his name. His intense hatred of the usurping mortals was well known. And his three daughters—yes, they would be the ones to do as Tadg wished, and quite willingly.

His grin was one of wicked satisfaction. He was far from beaten yet. He met the hollow gaze of the white skull upon the post, and then in a swift, savage gesture swung his bronze-shod druid stick up and knocked it from its perch.

The skull flew across the clearing, tumbling into the thick, crackling blanket of fiery autumn leaves. Its smooth dome cracked by the blow, its unhinged jaw askew, it looked up forlornly at the smiling druid.

'That for Bodb Dearg," Tadg announced loudly, defiantly. "Hell see, all of them will see. Nothing will keep me from having my revenge!"

I

Chapter Twenty-eight

THE CAVE

It had been a day since Finn and his companions had crossed the wide Boinne and headed southward. With most of the clan's warriors afoot, it would be two more days of traveling before Tara was reached.

Their numbers had swelled considerably since Finn had left them in the forests of Connacht. Crimall had not been idle while Finn trained with the ollamh. He had sent messengers to seek out every remaining member of the band scattered throughout Ireland. A score of warriors had come to rejoin the Clan na Baiscne and risk all in helping Finn make his bid for the place of his father. At least as many more had vowed to join them at Tara.

"There's many a strong young warrior, like yourself, who was an infant or yet unborn when the clan was broken," Crimall explained as they plodded along a road muddied by fall rain. "They have grown to manhood as servants to others, hiding their true blood as you have done, without honor, without pride. Now they see in you their only chance to have something of their own again. If there are enough to support your claim to the chieftainship, the Clan na Baiscne may live once more.*'

Finn looked back at the eager faces of the painfully young men marching stolidly along behind him. He had not thought before of all the lives he would be risking in this drive to fulfill his ovm quest. He recalled the

carnage he had witnessed in his first battle with uneasiness.

"And what happens if there aren't enough?" he asked.

Crimall smiled grimly. 'Then, when Samhain is ended, we may find ourselves deer to the Moma wolf!"

They moved on steadily southward and eastward fi-om the Boinne. Dawn of the second day brought them to a wide, hard-packed main road that Crimall said led to Tara of the Kings.

"Well not be travehng it ourselves, of course," he pointed out. 'This next part of our journey's going to be the most dangerous. If the high king or the Moma clan have any suspicion that weVe heading for Tara, they'll have every way guarded."

"Helped by the powers of Tadg," Cnu Deireoil added, looking nervously about. "With de Danaan magic against us, any fox or any tree might be an enemy."

Remembering the raven, Finn glanced cautiously around as well. Once, at the Boinne, he thought he had glimpsed the form of a great blackbird sweeping close overhead. But he had seen nothing since.

"Well, we'll take no chances," Finn's uncle announced. "I know a way across country that should get us to Tara without being discovered. It will take longer, but we'll still arrive before the fete begins.

Across country was, Finn found, a mild way of describing the tortuous route Crimall now guided them along. It seemed to be mostly up and down, across fields of jagged rock and through treacherous bogs, up wind-scoured cliflFs and over rain-swept hills of barren stone.

It was midaftiemoon of the second day when Crimall brought the party to a halt. Leaving them to rest, he and Finn moved on ahead, scouting the way to insure safety.

For some time they moved constantly upward into an area of rugged hills. The stone around them was bare of vegetation and the sky above was heavily overcast, making the world about them seem all a dismal

gray. They saw no signs of game and heard no sounds. Even the keening wind had died away.

Following the only passable route, they climbed a narrow cleft up a steep hillside, coming finally upon a wide ledge just below the crest. As they clambered up onto this level area, they stopped in surprise. Before them was a cave, like a jagged hole punched in the gray armor of the cliff face. And before the mouth of it were seated three figures.

They appeared to be old women, gray-haired and scrawny and hunched. They were engaged in some task around three upright sticks that so absorbed them that they seemed unaware of the arrival of the two warriors.

"What are they doing out here alone?" Finn asked in wonder.

"I dont know," Crimall said, "but let's be away. No use in having anyone see us."

"Wait!" came a high, faint, wavering voice fi-om one of the women. "Don't leave us alone. WeVe need of your help to rid us of our curse!"

The pain and the immense weariness in the voice went to the heart of the young warrior.

"We've got to see if we can help them, Uncle," he said.

"No, lad," Crimall protested. "It's no good our delaying here on such strange business. These women are nothing to us. The journey of your own is all that matters now."

"Seeing to those who are needing help is always what matters first. Uncle," Finn said firmly, "or winning the kingship of all Ireland itself would mean little to me. Now, Til not be leaving here until I see if anything can be done for them."

He started forward. Crimall realized his brash and stubborn nephew was not to be dissuaded. As Caoilte had so often done before him, he gave a sigh of concession and moved after Finn.

As the two came closer, they saw that the women were indeed very old, and quite wretched in appearance. The skin of their faces was darkened and deeply seamed as if countless years of sun and rain and wind

had burned them, eroded them, weathered them away until the flesh was gone and the cheekbones, jaws, and noses were thrown into sharp rehef.

The hair of the three was gray-white and very coarse, standing out about their heads in wildly tangled manes. Their eyes, fixed intently, unblinkingly on their work, were large, bright red about the light pupils, and tearing constantly. Their skinny lips were drawn back tightly in concentration, revealing teeth badly broken and decayed. All three wore tattered gowns of filthy yellow wool with the sleeves pulled up to reveal arms that were long and almost skeletally thin.

Finn realized that what occupied them so completely was the spinning out of fleece. Three tall and crooked sticks of holly wood were set upright in the ground before the opening of the cave, forming a large triangle. A thick hank of drawn wool hung upon the branches of each stick, and a woman worked at each hank. With long, bony fingers whose thick nails were like the tips of a cow's horns, they spun the wooden spindles tirelessly.

"TheyVe an unpleasant-looking lot," Crimall commented softly to Finn, grimacing in distaste.

"Their appearance is not their own doing," Finn murmured back in an admonishing tone. He raised his voice to address them. "My good women, what is it that's troubling you?"

"It's cursed we are,*' said the one who had first called to him. Neither she nor the others looked up while she spoke, but only labored feverishly on. "A sorcerer of the terrible Sidhe folk has put it upon us. We have been slaves of it since we were girls, oh so many long years ago. We've been made to work here without rest, and it's only the hands of the greatest hunter of all the territories of Ireland who can lift the curse from us. '

"I make no claim to being the greatest in all Ireland," Finn said with modesty, "but I've been a hunter since my youngest days."

"Is that the truth!" she said with eagerness. "And are you always shouting through the whole country

with your great packs of hounds and tearing through the wild places, driving the badgers from their holes, and the foxes in their wanderings, and the birds on the wing?"

"Aye, I suppose that's right enough," Finn admitted. "It is the hunting that's one of the greatest joys of my clan, and of myself as well/'

"Then it just may be that you are the one we seek, young warrior. See if you can come to us and pull our hands from these spindles. If you can, our labors will be ended. We will be free."

"I will try it then," Finn promised, starting forward.

His uncle stopped him with a hand upon his arm. "Finn, are you certain you must do this?" he asked.

"I told you, Uncle, I must do what I can," Finn said with determination and went on.

Crimall moved close behind him, a hand on his sword hilt, watching the hags carefully in case they should make some threatening move. The two approached the woman who had spoken first, stepping past the sticks of holly, into the triangle of space they formed.

As they entered it, a strange trembling, as from a sudden chill, fell instantly upon their limbs. Finn noted the tingling first and turned to shout a warning to his uncle.

"Enchantment! Go back, Crimall!"

But it was already too late for both men. The strange ague had swept through their limbs, leaving them unable to control their movements. They stood frozen to their spots, shaking violently, trapped within the triangle of sticks.

Around them the three hags now rose, letting drop the spindles. They gazed at the two captive men, their thin mouths stretching wide in gap-toothed grins.

"It was a fool you were to walk within the triangle," the one woman told them. "It's enchanted wool that hangs upon the holly sticks, and its magic drains the will of fighting men. So now we have you, hunter. Now we will repay your bloody work, your ravaging of our fields and our fair creatures with your savage hounds

and your cruel weapK)ns. And we will do the same with any others of your company that come after you."

Finn struggled to move, to break free, to grip his sword, but the uncontrollable tremor was draining away his strength. He stood helplessly as the hags moved in up>on him. They bound first him and then Crimall with thick ropes, winding them tightly about his body, securing his legs and pinning his arms to his sides with coil after coil until the two looked more like upright posts than men.